


Coming Home

by cookiegirl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bathing/Washing, F/F, Getting Together, Pining, Service Kink, medieval times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/pseuds/cookiegirl
Summary: Martha is Lady Sabine’s bath attendant, and she counts it as the greatest honour.
Relationships: Female Knight/Female Bath Attendant with a Crush, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/gifts).

Martha’s arms and legs are aching. She has spent much of the afternoon hauling firewood into the house, and drawing water from the well into pots and jugs. It’s hard work, but she welcomes the pleasant burn in her muscles. Today is a good day. Today, they learned by messenger that Lady Sabine would be back with them by nightfall, her quest completed.

The chambermaids have polished the manor house from top to bottom, and the cook has prepared a dinner of all Lady Sabine's favourite foods. The stable boy and squire are waiting at the door to take the Lady’s horse and helmet, and the peasants have gathered in the courtyard, eager to hear her tales of adventure. Lady Sabine will not disappoint them; Martha knows that no matter how long her journey has been, or how tired she is, she will do her duty and regale the serfs with the stories they yearn for. Martha rarely has the chance to attend at such times, but she has heard from the other servants how the Lady reenacts the most exciting parts for the peasant children, loving to see their small faces light up as they watch her slay imaginary dragons.

Still, much as Martha would like to listen, she has a more important job, a part that only she can play. She does not get to see that public show, but she gets something far better: the quiet time afterwards, when the Lady has finishing greeting, and has eaten and drank, and comes to bathe.

So Martha settles in front of the burgeoning fire, stoking it into greater life, watching the flames lick at the wood, and waits.

\---

The fire is crackling happily, and the eighth pot of water is suspended above it. Martha stirs it with a long-handled wooden spoon, making sure it heats evenly. A maid has sent word that the Lady is eating her supper, and wishes to bathe immediately after, as Martha is determined to be prepared. She shifts on her feet as she stirs the pot, her free hand twisting at her skirts and then fussing at her hair, unable to settle herself. She feels happier than she has for weeks, but she knows there’s a part of her that will only truly relax when she sees Lady Sabine for herself, sees her in one piece and unharmed.

The water starts to bubble, and Martha removes the pot from the stand and hefts it carefully into her arms, then carries it over to the large wooden tub, doing her best to step surely and steadily, not wanting to let a single drop of precious hot water slip over the side. She rests the pot on the edge of the tub and then angles it to allow the water to flow out and into the bath. The tub is nearly full now; one more pot of water will bring the level up high enough. Martha sets the final pot over the fire, and turns her attention to the herbs she has gathered. She adds them to the pot one by one: chamomile and then rosemary to relax her Lady’s aching muscles; mallow and breweswort to soothe any small scratches or wounds that her Lady may have acquired; and fennel for that sweet, sharp, liquorice-like scent that her Lady loves. The aroma of the herbs fills the room as they boil and Martha breathes deep, trying to calm the buzz of excitement in her stomach.

Martha is about to remove the pot from the fire when she hears footsteps in the hallway: the heavy footsteps of the Lady’s squire, and the softer ones that she knows belong to Lady Sabine herself. Her lady is an accomplished fighter, strong and fearsome, yet she is still light on her feet. Martha feels her heart begin to thud. She checks the room, making sure everything is perfect. The sheets are hung around the bath, billowing white; the freshly-laundered towels are stacked on one of the small stools next to it; the Lady’s nightclothes are hung nearby. 

The footsteps reach the outside of the room, and Martha hears the voice of Lady Sabine. It is muffled through the thick wooden door, but it is still distinctively hers. Her hands tremble slightly as she pours the final pot of water and herbs into the bath and sets the empty pot aside. She hears a murmur from the squire outside, and gathers that the Lady has dismissed him. His footsteps fade away on the flagstones, and then the door opens.

Lady Sabine stands tall in the doorway, her limbs still encased in the silvered plate armour, but her auburn hair flowing loose around her shoulders, her helmet long since discarded. She is pink-cheeked and smiling, though Martha can see the tiredness in the small lines around her eyes, can see the heaviness in the way she stands. Her quest has been hard and she has been away for twenty three days, but she is back and, as far as Martha can tell, she is whole. The lingering tightness in Martha's chest loosens and her breath comes easy once again. She bows low. 

"M'lady," she says, voice soft and deferential. "Welcome home."

Lady Sabine smiles more brightly and crosses the room toward her, nimble and graceful even in the armour. She holds a hand out to help Martha rise from her bow. It's not traditional for a knight to aid her servant in rising, but it is her way. At least here, in this room it is. Martha takes the offered hand for just a moment, and feels her body relax: that soft palm and those strong fingers are solid, tactile proof that her Lady has returned.

"Thank you, Martha," she says, and Martha thrills to the sound of that voice, pure and clear, cutting through the steam and the heavy scents in the small room. "It's good to be back."

"Your bath is ready, m'lady," Martha says. "May I help you prepare?" She casts her eyes down and away, always shy at this part, no matter how many times she has helped Lady Sabine disrobe.

"Please," says the knight, shifting inside her armour. "I shall be glad to be rid of this suit."

Martha is an expert at carefully dismantling armour. She takes each piece with gentle reverence, slipping them off Lady Sabine's body and hanging them on the mannequin near the door until they can be cleaned and polished. Then her Lady stands in front of her in just her chainmail vest and her underclothes, and Martha feels her own skin start to heat. In the past, her Lady has removed these final items herself, but today she stands still and lets Martha raise the vest over her head and then untie the strings of her underclothes, until the final pieces of fabric slide off her body and she is fully undressed. She is regal and quietly commanding even in her nakedness, and Martha's breath catches. She swallows, and takes her Lady's hand to lead her to the tub.

"The bath looks beautiful today, Martha," Lady Sabine says as she steps into the water, dotted as it is with the herbs, and with the pink rose petals that Martha has scattered on the surface to soften the water. 

"Thank you, m'lady," Martha says quietly, helping her to sit down in the bath and arrange herself comfortably against one end. Only when her Lady has slipped under the water so that just her head and shoulders are open to the air, and the floating rose petals obscure the shape of her curves beneath the surface, does Martha's heart begin to stop skittering in her chest. She allows herself to glance at Lady Sabine's face, and sees that she has closed her eyes.

"Shall I leave you awhile to rest, m'lady?" Martha asks. She does not wish to leave - she does not wish to be anywhere but in this room - but her Lady has no doubt fought hard and long and deserves a chance to soak in peace. 

Lady Sabine opens her eyes and her hand moves to catch Martha's wrist softly. "No. Stay. Please, if you will?"

Martha's pulse beats fast beneath her Lady's fingertips. "Of course, m'lady," she says, a little puzzled at the phrasing. As if it is a request, and not the order that it should be.

Lady Sabine's eyes drift shut again. "And let's have no more of this m'lady nonsense, shall we, Martha? I wish you would call me Sabine."

"Oh...I…" Martha stutters, inelegant in her surprise. How can she be expected to take such liberties with the Lady - with the owner of the manor, the brave knight who is responsible for the land and all that live within it? To call her by her first name would be almost incomprehensible.

Sabine smiles gently, eyes still shut. "Martha. We have taken many baths like this. Too many to stand on ceremony. Please."

She cannot deny her Lady anything when she asks so sweetly. She could not deny her, even if it would not be a punishable offense.

"Of course," she says, voice trembling a little. "...Sabine." The word feels heavy on her tongue, and strange on her lips, but in the air it sounds wonderful. "It is a beautiful name," she says, then berates herself for being so forward, but her Lady - Sabine - only laughs.

"I cannot take the credit for it," she says. "Martha, talk to me while I bathe."

Martha settles on her knees beside the tub. She isn’t sure what she could have to say that Sabine would find interesting - not when Sabine has been out in the forests and caves, adventuring, and Martha has simply been here at the house - but she talks anyway. She speaks of the way the gardens have changed while Sabina has been away, how new buds have started to form and fresh shoots have begun to poke up from the ground, withstanding the February frosts, promising of spring. She speaks of the minutiae of daily life at the manor, of how Harry the stable hand has been breaking a gelding, of how the cook’s two small children have been learning how to bake bread with mixed success, and of how the servants have gathered at the front door at dusk each evening, waiting in case their Lady appears on the horizon. She does not say that she herself is always the first at the door and the last to leave. She keeps her voice slow and soft, and she watches as Sabine smiles gently, her body relaxed but the corner of her lips quirking at any particularly entertaining detail.

“You’ve all done so well here, without me,” Sabine says when Martha pauses.

“You were missed, though, m’lady,” Martha says quietly, then hurries to correct herself. “Sabine.” She blushes a little at her own words, and tries to deflect attention. “And your quest? It went well?” She doesn’t usually ask after her Lady’s quests, knowing that Sabine has had to relate the details already and that Martha can glean the information from the others later, but her desire to change the subject overrides her normal reticence.

Sabine smiles at her. “It did. But I am glad to be home. It is good to be bathing in a tub again, instead of in the river.”

Martha laughs a little. “I suppose it is not quite the same.”

“It is not the same without you,” Sabine says. Martha blinks, taken aback, but before she can think too much about her Lady’s words, Sabine is shifting to sit up straight in the bath. “Wash me, Martha?” she says.

Martha nods, reaching for the sponge that sits next to the small basin of warm rosewater on the floor near her. She rubs a little of the lye soap onto the sponge, then stands and bends over the tub. Sabine lifts her left arm and allows Martha to rub the sponge gently down her arm and back up again, leaving frothy bubbles in its wake. Martha moves to the other side, and Sabine goes to lift her right arm, but there’s a twitch in her face as she does so, a wince that she tries to cover but Martha sees. She is injured, though Martha can detect no outward sign of it. A muscle strain, perhaps. Martha doesn’t ask - her Lady does not like to complain - but she is particularly careful as she washes Sabine’s right arm, making sure she does not press any harder than necessary. 

When she has washed Sabine’s arms, Martha helps her to stand in the tub, then runs the sponge over the rest of her body, trying not to stare at the perfect expanse of white skin while still ensuring the soap reaches every part of her Lady. Sabine’s strong legs, rounded hips, lightly toned back: all of them are washed clean as Martha attends to her. The muscles in Sabine’s stomach flutter slightly at Martha’s touch; her Lady has always been a little ticklish.

When she is washed, she sits again and Martha moves behind her, ready to wash her hair. This is Martha’s favourite part: the part where she can work the soap gently through Sabine’s long, glossy locks, letting her fingers massage at Sabine’s scalp, eliciting tiny moans of happiness from Sabine’s lips. Martha always wishes this part could last longer, that those small sighs could go on forever, but she knows she must wash the suds away with the remaining pot of water she has saved for this purpose. Sabine tilts her head back, and Martha places one hand softly over Sabine’s eyes while she pours the water with her other hand, making sure no soap suds can get into her Lady’s eyes. The water cleanses the creamy bubbles from her hair and leaves it sleek and bright.

“It is finished,” Martha says softly, and Sabine murmurs her thanks. Martha steps to the side of the tub, and helps her to rise from the water, then step out of the bath. When she is standing on the floor, Martha wraps her body in one of the towels, then uses a second towel to wrap her hair, and a third to gently dry the water droplets from her arms and shoulders. Then she drops to her knees and dries Sabine’s legs and feet, carefully holding the limbs with her left hand while her right rubs away the moisture. When her Lady is dry, she rises and takes Sabine’s robe from the hanger, and ties it around her, removing the damp towels. She leads Sabine to the fire, which is still glowing warmly, and guides her to sit in the chair. Then she takes a comb, and sets to work gently untangling the small knots left in Sabine’s hair, brushing it out until it lies smooth across her shoulders, ready to continue drying in the heat of the hearth.

“Shall I escort you to your bedroom?” Martha asks, satisfied that she has completed all of her bathing duties, swallowing down her sadness that their time has come to an end.

Sabine turns to look up at her. She looks serene, and Martha takes pride in a job well done. “Not yet, Martha,” she says, and she nods at the second chair next to the fire. “Sit with me awhile?”

Martha hesitates, but only for a moment. The emptying of the bath and the cleaning up can wait. She sits in the chair, and for a few minutes there is only comfortable quiet, and warmth, and the scent of the herbs still lingering in the air.

Then Sabine speaks. “This is the best part of coming home,” she says, her gaze resting on Martha. Her voice is low, and there is an unusual lack of certainty to it, as though she is not sure her words will be welcomed.

Martha’s breath catches in her chest. “M’lady?” she says, cautiously, not daring to hope that the words mean what she thinks they might, what Sabine’s gaze says they do. “The best part of coming home is...bathing?” 

“The best part is seeing you,” Sabine says, and Martha’s heart leaps. Sabine hesitates, then holds her hand out to Martha, palm up, an open offer. An invitation that Martha can barely believe.

Martha swallows, and places her hand inside Sabine’s. She has touched Sabine so many times, in so many places, and yet this, this innocent touch, this is the most intimate. This is the first time it is a touch for touching’s sake.

“I feel the same,” she says, and her Lady’s face lights up in a smile that Martha knows is reflected on her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Chocolate Box! :)
> 
> Thanks to Karios for the beta!


End file.
